


A Cure for What Ails You

by oldmountainsoul, pomegrenadier



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Angst, Asexual Characters, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, friends at first sight, gratuitous fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 06:50:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6145123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldmountainsoul/pseuds/oldmountainsoul, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pomegrenadier/pseuds/pomegrenadier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zaarah Keth has just survived a year under the Emperor's control. Traumatized and seeking healing on Tython, she stumbles upon the one person who may be able to help her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cure for What Ails You

**Author's Note:**

> A spruced-up RP between two tiny Jedi tanks /o/

**o.O.o**

The Tythos Ridge is still mostly unexplored by modern Jedi, but Aio found a few ancient maps that might still be useful and stuffed them into Zaarah's robes as they passed in the hallway this morning. Zaarah didn't exactly sneak out of the Temple--she just didn't make a huge event out of her exit. So now she's got a free day and enough of an idea of the landscape to have some fun and not think about anything for once.   
  
She marches up an overgrown game trail alongside a rumbling waterfall, smiling a little as the spray catches the light and sparks off rainbows. Her smile fades, though, as she draws closer to the top of the trail. There's someone else here. She slows her approach, then scowls and keeps going. She has every right to be here. She can always just nod and keep going.

Kerena shifts, feeling the presence of someone else approaching.  Her knees are stiff, and as she glances upward at the position of the sun, she realizes she's been meditating for far longer than she had intended. She goes to stand and greet the stranger, but fails miserably as she all but falls flat on her face, her legs asleep from sitting cross-legged for hours on end and giving out, sending her sprawling in an undignified heap on the ground. And of course, it's at just that moment when the stranger appears in her little nook by the waterfall. "Hello!" she calls.

"Uh, hi," Zaarah says, awkwardly. A year ago, she might have laughed and offered a hand to help the other Jedi up. She hangs back, hands twisting at the edges of her sleeves. 

"Don't mind me, you're more than welcome to this spot. It'd be a shame to keep such a peaceful place all to myself." Kerena pauses, feeling the scattered, rough edges of the other Jedi's signature, bleeding out into the Force. "Or I could go, if you'd rather be alone."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you. I'm just, uh, walking. Passing through or whatever. So if--you don't have to go, I'll just--" Zaarah stops talking, because at this point she's just rambling, and nobody needs to hear that.

Kerena shifts to a less awkward position, stretching her legs out on the grass and resting back on her knuckles. "It's all right, really. I'd been meditating for far too long." She chuckles, "As demonstrated by my apparent inability to regain control of my legs. You seem tired--would you like to rest here for a bit? I'd love the company, if it's okay with you."

Zaarah's been  _ tired  _ since Kira and Evren woke her up. She's been tired since she remembered how to be a person again. Pushing herself to the point of physical exhaustion helps, turns it into something real, something she's allowed to rest after. Instead of just--wanting to curl up and  _ stop _ when she hasn't done anything.   
  
. . . This Jedi feels nice. Cool and soft and bright in the Force. And before she can really make a conscious decision she's taking those last few steps forward and sitting down with her back against a rock, legs crossed, hands tangled together in her lap. "Thanks," she says, making her mouth form a smile to be friendly. "So, uh, I'm Zaarah."

"I'm Kerena," she beams. She lets silence stretch between them for a moment, taking in the breeze, the sunshine and sparkling spray of the waterfall.  _ Zaarah . . .  _ She knows that name. There's not a Jedi in the Core who doesn't know that name.  _ Tired must sound like the understatement of the century to her. _ Quietly, she resolves to take extra care to not put her foot in her mouth, not to press. She takes a deep, centering breath, considering what she could possibly say to put the obviously uncomfortable woman next to her at ease. "It's a lovely day for an . . . afternoon, isn't it?" she stammers.  _ Well. There goes that plan. _

Zaarah huffs out something she's pretty sure qualifies as a laugh. Maybe. "Yeah, it's--it's nice. Late spring's my favorite time of year." She picks up a smooth rock from next to her and turns it over and over in her hands. Odha would tell her to stop fidgeting and release her anxieties into the Force. Fuck him, he's not here, and she's fine, she can chat with Kerena and everything will be  _ fine _ .

Without thinking, Kerena reaches out with the barest whisper of Force--a habit she's fallen into, when chatting with Laranna or Yuon or Nadia, giving the gentlest nudge of  _ peace, _ or  _ safety _ whenever she feels someone is anxious or uncomfortable. "It's wonderful here, warm sunshine, the rivers swollen with melting snow, and everything just feels so . . .  _ alive, _ doesn't it? I only spent a year of my training here on Tython, and I don't get many chances to visit. But it is, it is nice. I'm glad I was able to come here to see the wildflowers and everything." 

Zaarah swallows hard at the brush of calm. She tightens her grip on the rock but her shoulders relax--she'd barely even noticed they were tensed up; she should've been more mindful of herself--and she wants to cry. Peace. Real peace. Kerena's just-- _ giving _ it to her, like it's no big deal. It's harder than it should be to not reach out and grab at it, bury herself in it. She doesn't even know Kerena. She has no right. And anyway that's not how this works, peace isn't something she can just take secondhand if she wants it to be real and lasting. "Yeah," she says instead. And that's just typical, she's even worse at small talk now than she was--before. Tries again: "Um, what brings you to Tython this time around?"

Kerena smiles warmly. "I always try to come back whenever I'm off duty, even if I only have a few days between missions. To re-balance myself in part, to rest and recharge and things like that. There are worse places to attune yourself to the Force, after all.”

“Uh. Yeah, Tython is great for the attuning to the Force thing. It's good to be back." And if that were all, Zaarah’d still be a broken mess, but at least she wouldn't have to choke down a frustrated scream every five minutes because Odha and Satele and Kaedan won't leave her  _ alone. _ The mountains, at least, are quiet, and they don't ask questions, and they don't look at her like she's a maybe-rabid animal.

. . . Kerena doesn’t look at her like that, either. She shakes off the ache of that realization and adds, “So--what exactly do you, um, do?”

“Diplomacy, mostly,” Kerena chuckles. “Don’t really look the part, do I.” She points to her face. “I was barely eighteen when the Council shipped me off on my next adventure. After my first mission, anything more . . .  _ strenuous  _ wasn’t exactly an option. I had a title that would appease the other delegates, and the experience of a very, very fortunate encounter on Alderaan, and well, here I am, errand girl for angry politicians the galaxy over. And you?”

Zaarah shouldn’t have asked if she didn’t want to have to answer herself. Hells. She clears her throat. “I, uh, I’m mostly a front line fighter? Politics isn’t really my thing.”

Kerena frowns. “Are you alright? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s fine, I’m fine.” She’s not. She drags a laugh out of somewhere. “There’s just not much to say, you know? I go places, I fight, I . . . protect people.” At least, she used to.

Kerena bites her lip. “I understand, I think. I . . . used to be a healer, for my first assignment. You remind me of some of my patients. That’s part of why I come back to Tython so often--to visit them, to make sure they’re recovering. They’re all--it’s just . . . the Council doesn’t quite offer them the support they need. They mean well, but some wounds need time, and lots of compassion before they can begin to heal.”

Zaarah looks at her, surprised. That’s not how most Jedi talk about the Council. "Your . . . patients?" She winces. Could be an unwelcome question. "Sorry, don't have to answer or anything.”

"No, no, it's alright to ask--” Kerena frets, unconsciously reaching out in the Force with a touch of sincerity and apology. "It was just for my first mission--they're all alive and well, it's just--there are some things that have no easy or simple cure, and I want to help however I can," she stammers.  _ Kriff, she's making a fool of herself. _ She glances at Zaarah, biting her lip and resisting the urge to smack herself in the forehead.

Zaarah draws her knees to her chest, loops her arms around them, free hand loosely gripping her right wrist. “That sounds--it’s good. That you’re . . . yeah.” She shouldn’t be jealous, it’s an ugly emotion, crawling through her chest, but--she wishes--she wishes she could diffuse the awkwardness, crack a joke or ask just the right question, but--she can't, she doesn't know where to even start. The ache of it is almost right, in some twisted way.

Kerena feels the anxiety swirling around Zaarah and automatically responds with a surge of  _ warmth. _ "Zaarah? Are you alright?" she asks, scooting closer and reaching out, lightly placing her hand on the other Jedi's shoulder. "Is everything okay?" she says, lacing her voice with feelings of comfort and peace, trying to soothe any perceived hurt.

Zaarah tenses up as if Kerena's hand is pouring electrical current through her. She looks at Kerena, wordless. It's not--she  _ wants _ , so much, she wants to lean into Kerena's touch and soak it in until maybe it hurts less to breathe, but--she drops her gaze. She keeps forgetting how unsettling it is to look her in the eye. Can't make herself pull away, though, and--and maybe that's okay. Maybe. Either that or she's more selfish than she is ashamed. "I don't know," she says. "Sorry. Just--I'm not--it's been a really long year."

"I understand. It's okay, Zaarah. It really is," Kerena says carefully, pulling back, just enough so that she's out of Zaarah's space but she could reach for it if she wanted to. "Would you like to talk about it? Can I help at all, in any way?" 

Zaarah stays frozen for another few seconds. Then she blurts out, "He made me torture my best friend. He made me kill so many Jedi. Made me like it. And then I--I woke up, but I still--I remember enough, I know what I did and I can't  _ forget it. _ My friend, she won't look at me and she doesn't have to, I know, but I miss her, I miss her so much, and--and I just--what if he's not gone? What if I'm still not me, what if he's just  _ playing _ with me? What if inside I'm still  _ his _ and this is some kind of--trick, or a trap, or--fuck, sorry, I'm sorry . . ."

"Oh, Zaarah," Kerena whispers, pulling Zaarah into a crushing hug. "Oh, Zaarah. I'm so sorry that that happened to you."  She runs her hands up and down Zaarah's back and through her hair, soothing, murmuring softly. "It's not your fault. You are yourself, or you wouldn't be here right now, telling me about it. You're safe here, Zaarah. I promise you are." 

“How can you possibly know that?” Zaarah can’t keep the bite out of her voice, the desperation twisting into anger. “You don’t know him, you have no idea . . .”

Kerena takes a quick, deep breath. “You’re right. I don’t know him. But I know others like him.”  She could help her. She could remove all doubt. It would hurt, stars, she knew how much it would hurt. What if it was too much? What were her limits? She’s already healed seven masters--how many did the first Barsen’thor heal before he died? What if this is the one that breaks her? She can’t know that. She can’t act on that assumption. Surely a moment of pain is worth being able to offer Zaarah a lifetime of peace. 

"What happened to you . . . the same thing happened to my master. I--I can help you, if you're scared," Kerena offers, stumbling over the words. "I can shield you from the influence of anyone who would try to control you. It's . . . It's what I do. My patients? They were like you. They're all alive and well and  _ free. _ I can help you, Zaarah. If he, whoever he is, if he's inside your head, I can cast him out. You deserve to feel safe, Zaarah. It's okay to be afraid, but you don't have to be. You shouldn't have to be afraid. It's okay now. It's all going to be okay."

Zaarah buries her face in Kerena's shoulder, eyes squeezed shut to hold back tears. This is--it's so much, it's more than she deserves and everything she wants, everything . . . She doesn't even know Kerena but it doesn't matter because Kerena is  _ good _ and--and afraid.

Not of her. Not of the power that burned her eyes white. Not of Vitiate, or his influence over Zaarah. But--Kerena  _ is _ afraid, and it's connected to her offer, and that's--

“You said you weren’t a healer anymore, though,” Zaarah says.

Kerena winces. “I am not . . . it’s not something I can do lightly. I--what I do--I learned a technique to shield people’s minds from the influence of an ancient Sith who once nearly destroyed the Order. I saved them all, and put an end to the threat.”

“But you’re afraid.”

“It has its cost. A life for a life. Or I suppose, one life for seven lives,” Kerena says ruefully.

Zaarah draws back far enough to stare at her, horrified. “It’s killing you,” she realizes. “You--no, you can’t do that for me, don’t, I’m not--”

“You are no less deserving of peace than they are, Zaarah.”

“Why would you say that? You don’t even know me.” As soon as she says it, though . . . Zaarah can guess. Because  _ a Jedi's life is sacrifice. _ Selflessness to the point of self-destruction. A Jedi's life is always, always second to everyone else's . . . unless they’re on the Council. The old rage burns slow and bitter, without the luxury of self- _ deception _ anymore. Zaarah breathes, sets it aside for later. She hugs Kerena again, tighter. "Thank you," she says. "Thank you so much. I--I can't ask that of you. But thank you. If you could just--look, though, that'd--it'd help. And if you find anything, please,  _ please _ don't try to fight him alone, that's how he held onto me for so long. Please."

“As you wish,” Kerena promises, pulling back from the embrace and kneeling on the grass. It’s . . . different, reaching into someone’s mind while they aren’t actively fighting her off. Zaarah is bright, and strong, and so very afraid, and she can see the marks of the demons that she’s faced, fresh scars still healing within her soul. But nothing more. No ancient Sith or puppet strings or plague is ravaging her mind.

Kerena looks up, opening her eyes slowly and smiling. “Zaarah, it’s alright. There’s nothing there. You’re safe. He’s gone.”

Oh.  _ Oh. _ She can't blink the tears back fast enough, and they go cold on her face as soon as they leave her eyes under the soft breeze. She sucks in a breath and then just--cries. Throws her arms around Kerena once more, rocking back and forth, sobbing as something jagged and painful in her chest eases back into place and aches and aches, like hope, like healing.   
  
He's gone.   
  
"Thank you, oh stars, thank you, thank you," she's saying. And--and yeah, she doesn't know Kerena, but--she  _ trusts _ her. More than she trusts the Councilors who sent her to die. And she gathers up that trust and relief and giddy joy and tangles them all together and tries to show them to Kerena, to tell her what words can't, and--   
  
_ He's gone. _

"You are most welcome," Kerena beams, hugging Zaarah back just as tightly and accepting her feelings with tears in her own eyes, sending back her own trust and relief and peace and joy, as much as she can. "You're safe now, Zaarah. Everything is going to be okay."

**o.O.o**

_ end _


End file.
